30-Day Wonder

By Richard Wilson

"30-Day Wonder" by Richard Wilson is a satirical science fiction novel that revolves around the absurdities and bureaucratic follies within the military. The story follows the protagonist, Sam, who finds himself caught in a bizarre situation where he must navigate the eccentricities of military life. Assigned to a peculiar base, Sam encounters an array of quirky characters and outlandish scenarios. The narrative explores themes of conformity, the clash between individuality and institutional regulations, and the often ludicrous nature of military procedures. Wilson employs humor and sharp wit to critique the inefficiencies and paradoxes of the military system, ultimately delivering a thought-provoking and entertaining read. The novel highlights the human element within the rigid structure of the armed forces, showcasing how individuals cope with and subvert the system in unexpected ways.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Otbebookpublishing
• Release date: May 7, 2024
• ISBN: 9783989733626

Richard Wilson

Richard Wilson (23 September 1920 – 29 March 1987) was an American science fiction writer and fan. He was a member of the Futurians, and was married for a time to Leslie Perri, who had also been a Futurian.

Book preview

1 (JULY 22, TUES.)

Yes, an' no, an' mebbe, an' mebbe not.

—Edward Noyes Westcott, David Harum

It was an ordinary July morning. July 22d, to be exact. A Tuesday. Already hot at 8:20 A.M., which is when I got off the long-distance bus at the Port Authority terminal and walked the few blocks to my office in the Times Building on 43d Street.

I work for a wire service called World Wide, and my job is to edit American news and send it to London for relay to clients around the world. Actually, wire service is a misnomer, because we use radioteletype, called RTT. My name is Sam Kent.

I hung up my coat, which I had been carrying, rolled up my sleeves and sat down at the big news desk opposite the overnight editor, Charlie Price. WW operates 24 hours a day.

'Morning, Charlie, I said. Anything happening?

Not a thing.

Good. I started to read the copies of the news stories which had been filed to London since I'd left late the previous afternoon. This is called reading in.

A copy boy automatically brought me a cup of coffee, heavy on the milk, and I lit a cigarette and read the stories on the torn-off yellow teletype paper attached to the clipboard.

At a quarter to nine I was up to date. I got up and took Charlie's place in the slot. Good night, he said, and went home.

'Morning Nan, I said to Nancy Corelli, the teletype operator. Ready for a big day?

Hi, Sam. She put down the Daily News and gestured at the teletype to London. It's dead as a tomb.

The belt was on. A belt is a length of perforated tape, glued into a circle, which goes through the transmitter and sends on the RTT, over and over, a series of lines that look like this:

QRA QRA DE WFK40 VIA PREWI/NY RYRYRYRYRYRYRYRYRY

QRA QRA DE WFK40 VIA PREWI/NY RYRYRYRYRYRYRYRYRY

They're call letters for the radio frequency assigned to WW by the FCC.

The belt had been on for a long time. Ergo, no news.

Here comes Washington, I said. They'll change all that.

At my elbow, the direct teletype from our Washington bureau clicked and hummed. It said:

GM NY IM

That would be Ian McEachern, the bureau chief. I said good morning back:

GM WA SK. DEADEST HERE

LOOKS QUIET HERE TOO. MARRINER CANCELED P C BUT ELLS MIGHT HAVE SOMETHING AT THE BRIEFING.

Secretary of State Rupert Marriner usually has a press conference on Tuesday, but today he was getting ready for one of his trips. Ells is George Ellsworth, the State Department spokesman.

II, I told Ian, which is teletype shorthand for aye-aye, or OK.

Having read everything on our file, I pulled over the clipboard with the overseas news. This comes in from WW's London bureau on teletypes at the other side of the room. Our desk doesn't have anything to do with that operation except to react to any major story affecting the United States or the United Nations. The UN machine at my other elbow was still quiet. Normally nothing happens there till after 10.

There wasn't much overseas news, either, despite the fact that London is five hours ahead of New York time.

I went through the papers to see if there was anything Charlie Price had passed up which was worth stealing or following up. Times, Trib, News, Mirror. Nothing. Wall Street Journal. Damn good reading, as usual, but nothing in it for us. Journal of Commerce. Nope. Morning Telegraph, the voice of the turf. No overseas angles to the day's quota of horsey news. Variety wouldn't be out till tomorrow and the advance copies of Time and Newsweek would come in later in the morning, about the same time as the first afternoon papers. It looked like one of those days.

The domestic wire service we subscribe to was also in the doldrums. Its ticker had been silent for an hour except for the occasional CLR it sent to show it wasn't dead.

The Canadian Press machine was similarly moribund. I made a tour of the Western Union and cable-company machines at the sides of the news room to see if our national stringers or South American correspondents had produced anything the copy boy might have overlooked. Nothing.

Any coffee? I said to the boy.

Heavy on the milk, he acknowledged.

Thanks.

WW keeps a hot plate in one corner. There's also a kettle, a giant economy size jar of instant coffee, containers of milk from the Times Cafeteria upstairs, a five-pound sack of sugar and a dozen or so heavy army-surplus cups. We take our coffee breaks at the desk.

John Hyatt came in about 9:30. He's WW's general news manager.

Nothing doing at all, John, I said.

Well, he said, the situation can't always be fraught. He went into his office off the news room.

Nancy Corelli put down the News and picked up the Mirror. The belt went round and round.

I'm glad they don't pay us by the word, she said.

Calm before the storm, I said. You wait.

I'm waiting. She turned to Walter Winchell.

I brought the portable radio out of the corner and plugged it in at the desk. Sometimes on a dull day NBC or CBS will dredge up an exclusive of its own which evokes comment—and a few hundred words of copy—from the White House or the Pentagon.

I heard the tail-end of Stardust on the independent station the radio had been tuned to; then, at 10 A.M., switched to NBC, turning down the volume till it had got the horrible electronic gongs with which it heralds its on-the-hour news out of its system.

... aftermath of a freak tornado in Kansas, and then a special report from Washington on a possible harbinger of the interplanetary age. But first—this message for Anacin....

I downed the volume again. The interplanetary item might be something, but I wasn't too hopeful. An NBC man could have got the editor of Missiles and Rockets Magazine to lift the tarp a bit on a development that was common knowledge in the trade but which Defense was keeping under a secret wrap.

... and now the news ... twister ... no casualties reported.... We switch now to Washington ... early this morning ... Burning Tree Country Club's 16th green ... halo of blue flame ... alien creatures ... completely unsubstantiated but no one has offered an alternate explanation....

Well! I scribbled a few notes, then got on to our own Washington people on the printer:

IM. NBC RADIO SAYS SPACESHIP MAYBE LANDED BURNING TREE. PEOPLE FROM OTHER PLANET GOT OUT DISAPPEARED AND SECURITY CORDON THROWN AROUND SHIP. SOUNDS FANTASTIC BUT WHO KNOWS. UNTOUCHING PENDING YOUR CHECK. SK

Ian teletyped back:

SK. HAVE A ROUGH NIGHT? IM

WOULDN'T KID U. ASK NBC WA IF U DOUBT.

OK, WIL TRY PENTAGON BUT DOUBT GET ANYTHING BUT HORSELAUGH.

He was back in a few minutes.

SK. MAY BE SOMETHING TO IT. PENTAGON UNDENIES BUT UNTALKING EITHER. SUGGEST U PUT OUT WHAT U HAVE AND WILL TRY BURNING TREE. IM.

OK

I sent a brief item, thoroughly sourced to NBC and quoting a Defense Department spokesman as refusing to confirm or deny. Our domestic wire service had nothing.

Burning Tree hadn't been in the news since the Eisenhower administration. They might be eager to talk.

I thought about possible sources in New York. There were the usual crackpot organizations who would comment on anything. They'd be volunteering their remarks soon enough. There were a handful of reputable scientists, personal or business friends, who would be willing to discuss an authentic report on a nonattribution basis. I decided to wait a bit before calling one of them.

I didn't have to wait long. The bell of the TWX machine rang and the copy boy turned it on. He typed WW GA PLS as I looked over his shoulder. A message began to come in. It was a queer one. I read it as it came in and then, when the boy had acknowledged it and torn it off, I took it to the desk and studied it. It said:

THE MINISTRY OF FOREIGN AFFAIRS OF MONOLITHIA TODAY TRANSMITTED THE FOLLOWING NOTE TO THE DEPARTMENT OF STATE OF THE UNITED STATES: IN THE INTERESTS OF INTERPLANETARY AMITY THE REPRESENTATIVES OF THE MINISTRY OF FOREIGN AFFAIRS OF MONOLITHIA WHO HAVE THIS DAY EFFECTED A LAND-FALL ON THE PLANET KNOWN AS EARTH (SOL III) DESIRE TO CONCLUDE A TREATY OF PEACEFUL INTERCOURSE WITH THE REPRESENTATIVES OF THE UNITED STATES AND OTHER TERRESTRIAL SUZERAINTIES AND TO THAT USEFUL END SUGGEST A MEETING OF SUCH REPRESENTATIVES AT A TIME AND PLACE MUTUALLY CONVENIENT.

There were several things I could have done. I could have put out a flash saying aliens had landed on Earth. It tended to confirm the NBC report. But my natural skepticism made me pick up the telephone instead. I got the supervisor who handles TWX messages and asked where the message purporting to come from the Monolithian Foreign Ministry had actually been sent from. All the supervisor knew was that it had been sent by BT-107 in Bethesda, Maryland.

Would that be the number of the Burning Tree Country Club? I asked her, to nail down a coincidence.

Yes, she said.

Again I was tempted to send a flash, or at least a snap, but decided to make one more check first. I started to punch out a message to Ian on the teletype to Washington, but that was too slow. I got him on the phone instead.

I just hung up on Burning Tree, Ian said. I don't know whether somebody's pulling my leg, but whoever it was claimed to be a spokesman for the Foreign Ministry of something called Monolithia.

It all fits, Ian, I said, and I told him about the TWX message. Has there been any indication that State has received such a note?

I'll check right now. Hold on.

I bit a pencil while I held on and had a look at the domestic wire service. Nothing there. I wondered what AP and UPI and Reuters were doing. I was sure they had received similar TWX messages. Still holding one phone to my ear, I pulled over another and dialed PLaza 7-1111, AP's number. I put that receiver to my other ear and asked for the general desk.

This is Kent of World Wide, I said. Did you get a message on the TWX from something calling itself Monolithia?

Yes. Did you? I was just going to check with you about it. UPI and Reuters got it, too. About interplanetary intercourse.

That's the one. What do you think? Is it a hoax?

We don't know. We're checking. Have you put out anything on it yet?

No, I told him. We're trying to get State on it now.

So're we—

Ian came in on my other ear: Sam? State got the note. I'll send a snap.

Okay, I said and Ian hung up.

What? the AP man asked.

Nothing, I told him. Thanks. I hung up both phones and turned to watch the snap Ian was sending from Washington. AP and UPI have bulletins. We have snaps. Same thing.

I could tell from the halting way it was being punched out that the regular Washington operator hadn't come in yet and that Ian was sending himself.

SNAP

NOTE

WASHINGTON, JULY 22 (WW)—THE STATE DEPARTMENT TODAY RECEIVED A NOTE FROM MONOLITXXXX A NOTE PURPORTING TO COME FROM A SPACE NATION CALLING ITSELF MONOLITHIA. THE NOTE SAID REPRESENTATIVES OF ... MONOLITHIA LANDED TODAY ON EARTH AND DESIRED TO SIGN A PEACE TREATY.

MORE

I ripped it off the machine, fixed Ian's correction with pencil, changed desired to wanted, and slapped it on Nan's clip. She had already rung the six bells a snap takes and was up to the dateline by the time she got it.

Ian carried on:

NOTE 2 WASHINGTON ADD SNAP

A STATE DEPARTMENT SPOKESMAN ACKNOWLEDGED RECEIPT OF THE NOTE BUT DECLINED TO GIVE ANY DETAILS. ASKED IF HE THOUGHT THE NOTE WAS GENUINE, HE DECLINED TO COMMENT BUT SAID A STATEMENT MIGHT BE ISSUED LATER.

RECEIPT OF THE NOTE FOLLOWED REPORTS THAT A SPACE SHIP HAD LANDED AT BURNING TREE COUNTRY CLUB IN SUBURBAN MARYLAND.

A REPORTER WHO TELEPHONED BURNING TREE TO CHECK THE REPORTS WAS UNABLE TO REACH OFFICIALS OF THE CLUB, A FAVORITE GOLFING SITE OF FORMER PRESIDENT EISENHOWER. THE VOICE ANSWERING THE PHONE SAID: FOREIGN MINISTRY OF MONOLITHIA.

MORE

I sent that straight off to London, then turned to my typewriter to prepare a take to fit into Ian's story.

I typed:

note to washington

first knowledge of the monolithian note came in a message sent by teletype to the major news services. it quoted the note which it said had been transmitted to the state department. a check with the telephone company, which operates the private line teletype (twx) service disclosed that the message had originated from a teletype machine at burning tree country club.

the message, as received by world wide and other news services, said (full text):

the ministry....

Ian was sending a message on the machine:

SAM SUGGEST U INSERT COPY OF NOTE WHILE I LOOK OVER MY SHORTHAND ON TALK WITH THIS BURNING TREE CHAP IM

I replied:

ALREADY DOING, and sent my take as NOTE 3.

The direct-line phone from our United Nations bureau rang and I picked it up.

Hello, Sam? Collishaw Jones's voice asked. What's all this about Monolithia?

What about it, Collie? I asked him. Have you got something, too?

It's a handout saying Monolithia is applying for UN membership and requesting the Secretary-General to circulate its petition among all delegates. What the hell is Monolithia?

I gave Collie a quick fill-in and said, Put a copy of the handout on the machine, will you? I'll work it into Washington's series. Is there anything in the Charter that says a nation has to be from this planet to be eligible for UN membership?

Of course there is—I think. I mean it's never come up before. I'll send the text and then check.

But Collishaw Jones's check showed there was nothing in the Charter prohibiting an alien nation from joining the UN, provided it was peace-loving and accepted its obligations.

There's lots of stuff about international peace and cooperation and international relations, he said. As far as I can see, the word 'interplanetary' isn't used once. But on the other hand it isn't specifically ruled out.

Thanks, I said. That sounds like a good story all by itself.

I'll do it, he said.

Meanwhile Ian McEachern had sent a few more takes about his conversation with the voice at Burning Tree, which spoke good English in a clicking sort of way, as if it had denture trouble, with an indefinable accent. The conversation had produced few facts, the speaker sticking pretty close to the text of the note, but Ian milked it for as much color as he could extract.

I looked over his copy and handed it to Nancy. I could hear her just busting to ask questions but I didn't give her a chance. I had a thousand of my own and nobody to ask them.

Stew Macon, one of the rewrite men, came on duty and said, What's new, Sam?

I handed him the clipboard. Read this, I said. Then get Webster and the Oxford and call the library and do a piece on the literal and figurative meanings of 'monolith.' Work in how Dulles and that crowd used to call Russia a monolithic state, and why.

Stew looked surprised. Okay, he said. I don't get it, but okay.

You will.

Ian was ringing the bell on the Washington machine.

FYI. REB, AT WHU, SAYS JOSH JUST CALLED IN BOYS. KEEP U INFORMED.

I acknowledged: II

WHU is old telegraphic code for White House, just as SCOTUS stands for Supreme Court of the United States. Reb Sylvester is our White House correspondent and Josh is Joshua Holcomb, press secretary to President Gouverneur Allison, informally known as Gov.

The phone rang and the operator said, I have a collect call for anyone at this number from a Miss Eurydice Playfair at Bethesda, Maryland. Will you accept the charges?

Oh, God, I said. Yes, I'll accept them. Riddie? I thought you were on vacation?

That you, Sam? I am on vacation but you know how the old fire horse is when it hears the gong. Have I got a story for you, kid! Riddie Playfair is not exactly an old horse. She's the shapeliest and best-preserved 43-year-old newspaperwoman I know. She combines the enthusiasm of a copy girl just out of college, which is good, with the slangy, wise-cracking hyperbole that went out with Lee Tracy's early talkies, which may be why she's still a Miss.

Well, I asked her, "have you got a story for me?"

Have I? I've got the biggest story since the hogs ate little Willie. Get a load of this, Sammy: I have interviewed a man from a flying saucer!

That's fine, I said. "Let me take a